


Checkmate

by obiwanken5



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Chess, F/M, Gen, Thedas, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obiwanken5/pseuds/obiwanken5
Summary: Various characters from various fandoms playing games of chess.Chapter 1: 707/MC (Mystic Messenger)Chapter 2: Cullen Rutherford/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age: Inquisiton)Chapter 3: Jumin Han/Reader (Mystic Messenger)





	1. Mystic Messenger - 707

**Author's Note:**

> There was a prompt list of coffee shop au's going around Tumblr, and one of them was about your OTP playing chess with each other without knowing whom the other player was. Each chapter is a single, stand-alone fic from various fandoms playing upon this theme. 
> 
> Opening boldly with my first ever MysMe fic, featuring everyone's favourite hacker, 707, and takes place prior to the events of the game.

It's a trendy little coffee shop on the outskirts of civilization, where suburbia begins to transition into the beating heart of the city. It's twenty minutes out of your way on your daily commute, but the coffee is excellent and the croissants are melt-in-your-mouth fresh every morning. The place is cozy, but not cramped, and you adore the romantic getaway feeling it invokes inside you despite the cafe's busyness. One of its defining quirks is the chess board in one corner: you've never seen anyone using it, but it's always set up for a game. Each morning, you glance at it and wonder if maybe there's a story behind its presence, or if, perhaps, people use it during the day when you're not around.

It's Monday morning, and the tiny bell on the door announces your entrance as you adjust the bag on your shoulder. Your customary glance into the corner on your way to the counter turns into a double-take, as you notice that a piece is out of place.

_Not out of place,_ you realize, _but **moved**_. You quickly glance at the other patrons, wondering who may have done it, but no one seems to be the likely suspect. _No one's paying attention to it, at any rate,_ you muse, taking your place in line. By the time you have your coffee and pastry in-hand, it takes you several minutes to become aware of the fact that you're considering the board instead of walking out the front door and continuing on your way. 

The first thing you notice is that it's an unconventional opening move. Instead of moving one of the pawns forward, like any sane person, the queen's knight is two squares in front of the queen's bishop. You're no expert in chess, but you know it's not a first move at all! You're not sure why the random placement of the piece, but it intrigues you. Maybe you can coax the board into a proper game?

_What the hell,_ you think, before stuffing the paper bag with your croissant into your shoulder bag and reaching out to move the black queen's pawn forward two squares. Before you can second guess yourself, you hurry out of the cafe.

***

Across the street at the bus stop, a young man wearing a charcoal hoodie with yellow markings and matching glasses is slouched on the bench inside the shelter. His large headphones press his mop of red hair to his scalp and cover his ears, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets as he watches the people ebb and flow through the cafe. It's not often that he ventures out into society for something not work-related, so when he does, he likes to take his time and soak in a bit of humanity. Today his wanderings led him to this part of the city, and this cafe in particular. After indulging in a pastry, he'd been drawn by the randomness of the ignored-yet-expectant chess board in the corner. He wondered if anyone knew it was there; judging by the fact that no one seemed to give it any thought, he doubted it. Maybe someone would notice if some of the pieces were moved? A surreptitious glance to make sure no one was watching him was preceded by his hand darting out and moving a single piece, the white knight on the queen's side of the board, to the spot in front of the pawn that protected the queen's bishop. It was the correct movement for the piece, up two squares and over one, but it wasn't entirely _legal_ at the outset of a game. He'd hurried out of the cafe soon after, and took up residence on the bus bench to stake-out the cafe. He wanted to see if anyone noticed.

After an hour of observation, he was beginning to get bored. He stifled a yawn as a bus trundled up and disgorged passengers before heading on its way. He gave the people only the most cursory of glances as they shuffled around each other in various directions, and in seconds he was once more alone. His gaze had been retrained on the chessboard's corner for almost a minute before his brain registered that his view of the game was blocked, and not by some random customer who was too clueless to know where the line-up started. He sat up, suddenly alert, and he strained to catch whatever details he could of the person. After a few agonizing minutes, his wish was finally granted: he watched as the patron freed a hand, and then reached out to move another piece. It took every ounce of effort to not let out a cheer of triumph, and instead he kept his gaze glued to the person as they hurried to the door. His breath caught in his throat as the girl emerged; he wasn't expecting her to be cute. He watched her until she melted into the crowd, his mind racing. The odds of her being a regular were high, since no one visiting for the first time would see that chessboard as anything but superficial window-dressing. Which meant that he could, potentially, return at the same time tomorrow to move another piece, and see if she noticed again.

The young man stood up and stared in the direction in which the girl had disappeared. He really shouldn't let this go any further. He was in the middle of an important job, and couldn't spare the time to indulge in vicarious social interactions. In fact, he really shouldn't have spent so much time watching this place; his handler would have a fit if he found out. With barely a backward glance, the young man turned his thoughts to returning home and the work that awaited him there. As much as he wanted to, there was no way he could come back tomorrow to continue the game. There just wasn't...

***

By Wednesday afternoon, you're convinced that whomever is playing with you isn't really playing the game in the strictest sense. It's almost like there's some other thought process that dictates white's next move, and by Thursday - as you notice that not a single piece has been captured and removed from play - you're positive there's a code behind it. You jot down all the moves made so far by both you and your mystery opponent, and that night you sit down at your laptop with a glass of wine and the list.

At first you think it's numbers-based. It make the most sense. The likely codes are Base64 (there being 64 squares on the board) or it's hexadecimal (16 chess pieces). (Your final thought is that its some sadistic combination of both, but seriously, who has the time for that?) Base64 seems far too complex, but in conjunction with the board call-outs, hexadecimal could be used to spell out certain words. The problem comes in trying to figure out which pieces hold which values, and how does one tell pawns apart from one another, or even queen's rook versus king's rook, once they've both been moved? 

You're into your sixth glass of wine before you give up for the night, and you shut it all down with the tipsy promise that you'll gather more data and tackle it again over the weekend. 

***

"You're not going out _again?_ " Vanderwood's surprise is masked by a patina of sarcasm and exasperation, but 707, secret agent and hacker extraordinaire, is non-plussed. He hasn't been this delighted over a game of chess in a really long time, and Vanderwood can suck it. Seven gives the other man a lop-sided smile.

"Of course I am."

"You have work to do!"

"Relax, I'm almost done. Me going out for an hour won't make a difference at this stage."

"This isn't related to RFA, is it?" Seven is slightly taken aback by the suspicious leer tossed in his direction, but he rolls with it. 

"Would it matter if it was?"

"No, I suppose not." The defeated slump in Vanderwood's shoulders gives Seven a thrill, but he's smart enough to hide it. "Just...an hour, right? Don't be late."

Seven bows graciously and with a tiny flourish. "Thank you, Ms. Vanderwood. You're too kind." And with that, he's out the door. If he hurries, he can just make it to the cafe on time...

***

Saturday morning you make a special trip to the cafe (for science!) and with it comes a certain revelation: it's not a code, per se. Rather, it seems like the pieces are being made to dance, and when one is in jeopardy of being slaughtered it is moved to safety. Back and forth, you've been playing a strange waltz to a tune that you're not entirely sure you can figure out. You're intrigued and have no plans of stopping, but you're starting to wonder where this is all going. 

"Hey," you say to the barista as he hands you your change. "You don't happen to know who else has been messing with the chess board, have you?" 

"Nope," he replies with a rueful smile and a shrug. "To be honest, it gets so crazy in here, sometimes, that we barely notice the folks in the line up."

"Right," you reply. "I'll have my usual; for here, this time." 

You sit close to the chess board, staring at it while silently begging it to reveal its secrets. The only thing you can really be sure of is that the majority of pieces seem to be moving toward the edges of the board, mainly the pawns, save for two, one black and one white. The other pieces you can't seem to figure out, though it looks like the colours for some are being swapped around. So far, the top left corner of the board has the black rook and knight where they're supposed to be, but it's the white bishop between them; it looks like the opposite corner is going for a similar motif, but reversed. You're note sure what's going on with the royalty, since they're at odds with each other in the middle of the board right now, with the two errant pawns. 

It's been at least fifteen minutes since you finished your coffee, and the barista seems to be giving you the _buy something else or get out_ arched-brow, so you grab your stuff and hit the bathroom before you leave. As you exit the bathroom, you catch sight of someone at the chess board, but all you can make out through the crowd is a flash of red hair and yellow shoulder as whoever it is walks away and heads for the door. By the time you get to the board the mystery person is already stepping over the threshold of the cafe and into the world beyond. A quick glance at the pieces verifies that one's been moved, and you're almost recklessly pushing through the line-up to reach the door. As you emerge onto the street, squinting at the sudden brightness of being outside, you hastily scan for any glimpse of that brilliant red hair, but it's no use. 

Whoever it was, is gone.

***

Seven wasn't sure if his mystery girl would show up at the cafe on a Saturday morning, and a part of him hoped that the intrigue of their game would lure her out if she wasn't a weekend person. Disappointment at being late warred with elation over her presence, as he watched her through the window. When she sat down at a table instead of taking it to-go like usual, Seven bit his lip and retreated to his bus bench to wait her out. It sucked that she wouldn't find his next move until she returned either tomorrow, or Monday, but there was nothing to be done about that. He blamed Vanderwood. If his handler hadn't pitched that minor fit this morning, Seven would have been here much sooner. 

He notices the barista's look of _lady you're taking up a table now_ about a minute before his girl does; he's off the bench and waiting for his moment, which happens just as he reaches the cafe's entrance: she gets up and heads to the restroom. He's inside and to the board, and he has enough time to pick his move before she emerges. He can feel her eyes on his back as he heads out, and the thrill of the chase drops a dose of adrenaline through his veins. He didn't particularly like the field-work aspect of his secret agent job, preferring the behind-the-scenes computer work instead, but even he had to admit it felt good to evade someone after coming so close to capture. 

He's far enough away to glance back at the cafe safely and he smiles sadly to himself as he sees her standing on the sidewalk, looking for him. This is the part of the game he dislikes, and he reminds himself he shouldn't get attached to this; when the game was over, it was over, and he would have to move on. 

_I don't know why I torture myself like this,_ he thinks, turning his attention to the road before him. _But even secret agents need to be reminded of what they're working for, from time to time._

***

With another work-week in the bag, you can sense your game coming to an end. It saddens you, since you've finally gotten a handle on your red-haired opponent's strategy, and it's horribly sweet. You know that Saturday morning will be his final move, and after that, there's nothing you can do except snap a picture of it for posterity. 

You stand over the board with a heavy heart early Saturday morning. You made a point of being super early, so that you could catch another glimpse of him as he ends the game, but you can't quite bring yourself to sit at a table and blend in with the crowd. Instead, you marvel over the wonder of the last two weeks, and the board's final layout: The knights, rooks, and bishops form the bottom point, and top curve of a heart, with eight of the pawns forming the majority of the curves. You use the term ‘curve' loosely. The black queen and the white king close the heart at the top, and six of the pawns are corner filler on the bottom of the board. The last two pawns flank the white queen and an empty spot meant for the black king in the centre of the heart, a representation of the two players that made this board possible. The black king is the final piece to be moved. 

You almost want to move the piece yourself, and be done with it, saving yourself the agony of waiting for the heartbreak of never meeting, and of wondering why your opponent has chosen the black king as a metaphor for his or her identity. Even then you know you can't bring yourself to do it. So long as that piece doesn't move, the game isn't over; you can still hold on to an illusion, and the feeling of connection to another human being. Just as tears threaten behind your eyes, you're aware of a sudden presence behind you. A gasp escapes you when you try to turn around but can't: whomever it is has come close enough to tenderly slide an arm around your waist, forestalling any attempt at movement on your part. Before you can say anything to get anyone's attention, the person's other hand, clad in a yellow-trimmed charcoal sleeve, reaches out and moves the black king into its final resting place before joining its mate around your body. You're too stunned to do anything but sink into the person behind you and close your eyes. 

"Thank you, my queen," a male voice whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. He buries his face in your hair and gives you a gentle squeeze. "When I let go, promise that you won't turn around?" 

You swallow thickly at the infinite sadness held in those words, and you understand, a little, why he's the black king. You nod your head and whisper, "I promise."

"Ah, she speaks," he says on a sighed exhale. "Now your voice can torment me, as well. Farewell, dear maiden." He raises your hand in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles before letting go. True to your word, you don't turn around until you hear the tinkle of the bell announce the comings and goings of at least five people. You snap a picture of the board on your phone and then leave the cafe, for possibly the last time. 

***  
Six Months Later  
***

Seven is sprawled on the couch while his computer runs its algorithms on the desk nearby. There's an alarm that will go off if it finds anything of note, so he figures now is as good a time as any to hit up the chat room and hang out with the RFA. He's not sure how they end up on the topic of nepotism, and the ridiculousness of it almost makes him miss the notification of someone else entering the room. He blinks several times, since he is currently conversing with the only people who have access to this app. So who the hell was this, now? 

_/ **Think someone entered the chat room;;** /_ he types. 

Good old predictable Jumin is the first to respond: /MC...?/

_/Wtf. How did it get in here?/_ Zen adds.

There's only one thing that comes to Seven's mind: _/ **Hacker!** /_ As Yoosung loses his shit over this, Seven adds, _/Wait a sec. I'm searching./_

He's only half paying attention to the conversation as he does some hacking of his own. He sits up abruptly as his results come in. He runs the hack three more times to be sure before he tells everyone. 

_/I traced the IP...it's from Rika's apartment./_

As everyone joins Yoosung in losing their shit, the conversation derails, gets back on track, derails again, and suddenly everyone is introducing themselves. Seven keeps digging into this mysterious stranger as he keeps up with the background noise of the chat room, and it's not long before he decides to check the CCTV on Rika's place, and he suddenly has a photo of this stranger in the chat room.

"No..." he says to his empty apartment. "There is no way..." 

Staring at him from the screen is a face he's seen only once, on a bright Saturday morning nearly six months ago, as she left that crazy little cafe on the border of suburbia and civilization. Against his better judgement, he'd found a spot to discreetly watch the door, wanting to see more than just her profile through window glass. He smiles grimly as he teases everyone with the knowledge that he now knows what she looks like, and they do not. 

"I won't let you get to me again, my queen," he tells the girl in the video feed, even though she can't hear him. "You can try all you want, but you won't win this time. ...Game on."


	2. Dragon Age: Inquisiton - Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second variation on the coffe shop au of playing chess with an unknown opponent, this time in Thedas during the events of Dragon Age: Inquisiton.
> 
> This features my Quizzy, Etain, and is pre-romance with Cullen. (le sigh)
> 
> No beta for this one, sorry! If you notice anything amiss, please let me know!

Etain Trevelyan wasn't sure who had left the half-finished chess game in the great hall, nor did she know who had come along and reset it. She _did_ know that she was the one who, on a strange whim after breakfast, made the first move in this fresh game. By midday, she'd had a response, and without thinking she'd responded in kind. By dinner, the Orlesian hangers-on that frequented Skyhold had cottoned on to this blind game, and Josephine was suddenly inundated with more than a dozen requests for more chess boards. Two days later there were multiple games set up around the Inquisition's headquarters, and the chatter around the place was riddled with comments about this new fad. Etain couldn't walk anywhere without tripping over a board, and a small knots of people who were secretly watching each game. 

"I'm _so sorry_ , Josephine," Etain lamented several days later, sprawled on the couch in the war-room antechamber that served as Josephine's office. She was alternating between staring listlessly into the fire, and laying on her back and draping an arm over her face in exasperation. Josephine was at her desk, quill moving furiously over some document or another.

"It's fine, Inquisitor," Josephine assured her, her Antivan lilt giving the words a soothing balm. "It's not the strangest fad to take over Orlais, let me tell you. But at least it's keeping them from fretting about the war."

"You mean at least it's keeping them _busy,_ " Etain corrected the other woman with a soft snort. 

She could almost hear the smile in Josephine's reply: "That, too."

The women fell into silence, and for a while the only sounds in the room were the scratching of quill on paper, and the soft pops and crackles from the fire. Etain's thoughts turned to the game she was currently playing, and couldn't help marvel that it was still on-going. Usually a game could last minutes, to hours, but days? Perhaps the nature of making one's move without being caught by one's opponent made the length of the game a necessity. And speaking of opponents, "Who do you think I'm playing against?" 

"Hrm? ...Oh. I'm not sure?" A brief pause of the quill-scratching, and then, "You don't recognize the style of play, I suppose?"

"Not really. I've not had the chance to play against anyone more than once." A beat. "I seem to be losing."

It was Josephine's turn to snort. "That much is obvious. Thank the Maker that you are better at waging war in real life, rather than on a chess board." Etain propped herself up on her side to peer at her ambassador, and those ruffled shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug as the Antivan grinned. Etain couldn't help but smile back as she flopped back down on the couch. 

***

"You seriously have no idea who you're playing against?" Varric asked. He stood beside Etain as the two of them regarded the board on the table before them, arms crossed over his chest.

"None," she replied. A thought occurred to her, "You're usually hanging around here when we're not out on patrol; have _you_ seen who's been playing against me?"

Varric smiled up at her, that annoying, know-it-all look of an author who sees and observes _everything_ , but never tips his hand. "If I have, I wouldn't tell you. Isn't the whole point of this to try and guess on your own? Or, you know, win?"

Etain's shoulder's slumped. She hadn't been lying to Josephine; she was losing, but not terribly. She just needed to figure out how to stem the tide of destruction. _Which is an unhappy metaphor for my entire life, right now,_ she thought with a sigh. She glanced down at the dwarf as he gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll figure it out, Inquisitor. You always do."

And with that, she was left alone to ponder the ridiculousness that was this chess game. 

***

"Let's face it, darling: you may have played the real life version to a tee at the Winter Palace, but you're just _not_ cut out for this game." This latest assessment of Etain's chess skills from Vivienne had the Inquisitor exercising all her effort to keep her eye-roll internal. 

"Everyone's a critic," she replied, instead, trying for a lightly teasing tone. 

"Of course we are, my dear." The Orlesian mage flashed Etain one of those infuriatingly superior smiles. "As the Inquisitor, all of your actions are subject to scrutiny. Naturally, some opinions of your actions will be unfavourable. It's the only way we grow."

"Thank you, Vivienne, for that very frank assessment of the current situation." 

"You're quite welcome, dear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be. Do come see me, later, yes?"

"Sure," Etain promised the retreating woman. She shook her head as Vivienne disappeared through a doorway and sighed. This would definitely be the last chess game she ever played. 

***

"Oh, that's just _mean,_ " Etain said to the empty great hall, when she saw the latest move. It was one of those very rare times when no one was lingering to catch sight of the inquisition's comings and goings, or to indulge in idle gossip as they snacked on the various treats provided by the kitchen staff. Etain usually adored these moments; she would sit on the throne and take in the sight of Skyhold's keep, relishing in the silence and the lack of people wanting things from her. Today, however, the silence was maligned by this odious game, and Maker help whomever had decided to play her. 

There was no obvious move that would allow her to keep any sort of dignity, and all of the moves she could see played out to a very tragic end. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned; tilting her head to one side and viewing the board at an angle didn't help make things any clearer. Nor did looking at it from the other side, as she walked around the table for a different perspective. 

It took Etain a solid five minutes to realize that she was no longer alone; not even the shadow falling across the board broke her intense scrutiny of the pieces before her. She blinked rapidly in surprise as she finally looked up, and her mouth fell open as she found Commander Cullen standing opposite her, looking down at the board, too. The tiny sound that escaped her was something between a gasp and a cry of shock, and it had the effect of turning the commander's attention to her, as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. He smiled that incredibly attractive lop-sided grin, and in that instant Etain _knew_ that he knew who he'd been playing against this entire time.

"Andraste's flaming...you son of a... _you?_ I've been playing against _you_ this entire time?" Etain sputtered, arms falling to her side, and not caring how foolish she may have looked. Cullen's smile widened, and Etain swore it gained a touch of smugness. 

"You're quite adorable when you get upset," he said gently. His voice always did strange things to Etain, things that she would never admit to anyone, least of all him. This time it had the effect of causing her to close her mouth and school her emotions. She narrowed her eyes and peered at him.

"And you're mean," she replied, gesturing to the board.

"A little bit, yes," he admitted. "You did well to last this long. Most people would've tried cheating, or giving up."

"I never give up." She pulled herself upright and crossed her arms over her chest again.

"Good, because you can still win, if you're careful. Shall we?" He gestured to the chairs, inviting her to finish the game face-to-face. Etain sized him up, trying to determine his sincerity, while trying - and failing - to ignore how the scar across his lips almost disappeared when he smiled like that, and oh, Maker, was it hot in here all of a sudden?

"Well, you've already done your worst," she replied, pulling her chair out and sitting down. "You have done your worst, right?"

Cullen grinned again as he took his seat, and Etain was glad she was already sitting down. "Well, I suppose we'll have to find out, won't we?" His expression was mischievous as he added, "and I believe it's your move..."


	3. Mystic Messenger - Jumin Han

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jumin's turn to play chess with you! 
> 
> This takes place after the Secret endings and contains a slight spoiler for them. 
> 
> And omg it took so long for me to write this. Jumin Han vexes me. I'M SO SORRY.

It's the middle of your first day at C&R and as far as first days go, things have been pretty good. You're pretty far down in the hierarchy, so you get to miss out on all the crazy drama surrounding Jumin Han and his father, and you're actually kind of thankful for that. You see his poor assistant from time to time, and she always looks like she's running on coffee and stubbornness. You feel tired on her behalf when you catch a glimpse of her, and you say a silent prayer thanking whatever higher power you believe in that you're not in her position, while simultaneously praying for her wellbeing. While you may be apart from the craziness, you've still seen snippets of it here and there during your orientation tour.

Your department shares a break room with another department on the floor above you. It's more of a small, communal kitchen area, with a posh lounge and dining area, but as far as break rooms go, this is pretty nice. When you walk in, there are three women chatting in the lounge area, each with a mug of steaming liquid cupped in her hands, and one other woman sitting at a table in the dining area. None of them pay you any mind as you sit at another dining table and pull out your lunch, and a book. The conversation from the trio begins to filter over to you once you've settled in and begun eating; it's basic office gossip, so you tune it out for the most part. You have no idea whom they're talking about, anyway, so there's no real vested interest in it. Until, of course - after you've finished your food and opened your book to read a few pages - they drop Jumin's name. Your eyes defocus on the page as your ears tune themselves for eavesdropping, but after a few moments you realize it's the usual chatter of _Jumin Han blah, blah, attractive, blah, blah, wealthy, blah, blah..._ You try hard not to roll your eyes; you're not sure why women are so eager to throw themselves at Jumin, when he's clearly not interested; of course, he's attractive, but you suspect his wealth is even more so. Plus, he's so far above everyone, that the word ‘unattainable' somehow fails to convey how so far out of reach he is. Of course, you'd be ridiculously happy if he ever gave you the time of day, but you're also interested in getting to know him, rather than simply being another line in his ledger.

You're about to tune out of the conversation when it suddenly changes direction, and it's more the fact that the next topic is so far removed from Jumin Han that you're hard-pressed not to do a double-take.

"So, what's with this chess game, anyhow?" One girl asks.

"No idea," another answers. "But Janet up in marketing says it travels between break rooms."

"C'mon, Tara, that's just a rumour," the third girl interjects.

"No, it's true, Karen," Tara insists. "Janet says that it first appeared in the Executive Lounge, where someone - she has no idea who - moved one of the pieces. There was an answering move played before the morning break, and the game was over inside of the week. The person who started the game lost. After that, the board disappeared for a couple of weeks before it showed up again; Tara asked around, and apparently, it was seen in two other break rooms during its absence from the Exec Lounge."

"So now it's here," Karen states, and you glance over as nonchalantly as you can. You can't see a thing from your vantage point, however, so you pretend to read and continue listening.

"Looks like," the first girl affirms. "And it looks like White is getting trounced."

"So who's playing, then?" Karen asks.

"No idea," Tara admits. "Standard chess rules seem to apply, so White is whomever started the game; the only unspoken rule that has gone with this weird game is this: If you didn't make the first move, you're not allowed to touch the board. If you walk into a lounge, and the board is set for play, you're allowed to start the game, if you dare. If the game is in progress, it's hands off."

"What about the person who makes the second move? Who are they?" the first girl asks the question running through your head.

"No one knows," Tara explains. "If you're not there to make the first move, the game will always be two moves or more into the game when you see it next. Anyway, I have to get back. I have a couple of phones calls to return. See you guys later!"

Tara leaving precipitates the entire group breaking up for the afternoon, including the fourth woman who'd been sitting with you in the dining area, and suddenly you're alone in the break room. You figure it's time to go, too, so you gather your things, but before you leave, you step closer to the lounge and see the aforementioned chess board, the pieces arrayed in the middle of a game. Being a bit of a chess buff, you can see that White is, indeed, losing, and badly. Black will take it in 5 moves if White isn't careful. You shake your head and head back to your desk. Whatever game this is, it's totally above your pay-grade.

****

"Mr. Han?" Jaehee Kang asked tentatively as she gathered the rest of her papers. A meeting with the department heads had just ended, and she and Jumin were the last to leave the boardroom.

"Hmm?" Jumin intoned absently as he stood and straightened his jacket.

"Why the chess game?" She regarded him carefully as she asked, trying to read his body language and failing miserably. Jumin Han worked hard not to give anything away from even the slightest of gestures. It was one of the abilities that Jaehee admired about him, and she tried to emulate his inscrutability. It was important for both of them that she appeared as put-together as her boss, as it was the only way she could steamroll over everything to get the results that Mr. Han expected from her. From time to time, however, in spite of the fact that it drove her crazy most days, he surprised her with his cunning; his seemingly random ideas and penchant from jumping from project to project usually ended up netting some incredibly impressive results. Of course, they were only impressive if those projects weren't related to cats in any way, shape, or form. And since chess had no connection to felines, she was curious as to its purpose.

Jumin let out a long-suffering sigh. "Father is on my case again to start dating. I tried to deflect him, but he wouldn't let me." Jumin frowned. "So, I decided to take a page out of Saeyoung's book, and set up a means to distance myself from all but those worthy of my time."

"I don't understand," Jaehee insisted.

"I am heir to this company," Jumin explained simply. "And I refuse to subject myself to the drama that surrounds my father's revolving door of relationships."

"And the women your father dates are usually more interested in his money than they are in having an actual relationship," Jaehee finished.

"Precisely. The woman I choose to date must be smart and capable since she - if she and I were to marry - will be running this company by my side."

It finally clicked for Jaehee, and she blurted out, "If they beat you at chess, then they are at the very least capable of being able to make strategic decisions." Jumin offered her a rare smile in reply; Jaehee just wished it didn't look so tired.

"My father is appeased because at least I'm _trying_ ," he said. "And I am appeased, because no one has bested me yet, and I can go on in my solitude."

Jaehee watched as Jumin left the room, and she sighed softly. Jumin had been acting strangely ever since the RFA had been invited to Saeyoung's house for his and his girlfriend's engagement party; Jaehee suspected that the happiness between the young couple had shown Jumin how lonely he had been for all these years, but was still too stubborn to admit it. He was using this chess game as an excuse to avoid dating, but she wondered how disappointed he really was that no one had beat him yet. Shaking her head, she followed in Jumin's wake, knowing that she would probably never find out.

****

A day later the chess board has vanished from your break room, and you smile to yourself. Clearly your assessment of the game was spot-on, and you feel a little smug. You don't see Tara or Karen in the break room again, and so you have no idea where the game is now, since they seemed to be up on all the company's gossip, and - being so new to the company - you have yet to make any inroads to having that kind of information on your own. So it's with great shock when, two months later, the board is back within your sphere of influence. You're the first one to the break room for an early morning coffee that day, and you stop dead in your tracks as your eyes alight on the freshly set-up game sitting on the table in the lounge area of your break room. You haven't realized that you've been glancing at the spot every time you go on break until that moment, and it takes you several seconds to really process what's going on.

With a rapid reconnaissance of the area to ensure your privacy - no one is supposed to know who's playing, after all - you sidle over to the board, and ponder how you want to open the game. You're not sure how others have chosen to start their games, but it's a safe bet that they've gone with the standard moves of either the Queen's or King's pawns; you decide that whoever is on the other side of this game deserves to see something unconventional, so you decide on an English Opening, and move the Queen-side Bishop's pawn up two spaces. You move away from the board as quickly as you dare, lest you accidentally upset it in some way, grab your coffee, and then hurry back to your desk to start your day.

Your curiosity and anticipation are mixed with the feeling of excitement of being the one to finally get a chance to play, and it takes every ounce of effort not to go running down the halls of the building yelling at the top of your lungs that you're one of the players. It does motivate you to work fast enough to skip out to lunch ten minutes early so you can go check on the board and see if anyone's replied yet, and make your next move if they have. You make a strangled squealing noise when you discover that Black has made their move, and you bounce a little in excitement. You move your next piece, and then head over to one of the dining tables. You're incredibly self-conscious as people filter in for their own lunch breaks, and you find it difficult - difficult but not unmanageable - to feign disinterest and nonchalance at the murmurs over the game.

 _I'll stop in before I head home,_ you promise yourself as you head back to your desk. _Just in case..._

****

The break room – indeed, the entire office – had been empty for some time. It was after-hours, and all the employees had gone for the day, save for those that dealt with accounts overseas. It was a rare lull in activity for the company, that Jumin always felt had an air of quiet anticipation about it, for the next day's business. The break room, in particular, seemed to hold its breath for the drama it currently contained, as the young director stood over the chess board, gazing down at it thoughtfully.

The game had been going on for far longer than the previous games he'd played, and his pieces on the board were rapidly dwindling. He was intrigued by the strategy employed by his opponent, and he couldn't help but admire the creative intelligence behind it. Neither side of the board had a clear path to victory, which vexed him a little. By this point, he was usually able to calculate the number of moves until the end of the game with a predictable winner, but each time he did so this time, the other player did something to change the figures, which placed him at a disadvantage.

Jumin was used to crushing his opponents in decisive victory. He was not used to having his defences whittled away while the other person danced around him with minimal losses for the most part. Jumin was certainly not used to the idea that perhaps his little plan had backfired, and it had actually served its purpose in finding him a woman with a mind as shrewd as his.

 _How inconvenient,_ he mused. The soft gasp of surprise from behind him interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his upper body slightly so he could look over his shoulder in its direction. He frowned as the break room door closed with a soft _click_ , preserving the anonymity of the author of such a shocked utterance. Could it be that his opponent had lingered to catch a glimpse of him? Or perhaps she'd only meant to come check on the game before heading home for the evening? Whatever the case, she knew against whom she played, and he was still at a disadvantage.

"How will you use this information, I wonder?" he muttered. "You now have leverage, and a mind as keen as yours should be more than capable of putting that leverage to good use."

After watching the door for several more moments, he returned his attention to the game and pondered his next move. It was time for a bold strike, or he would end up losing the game...

****

Your heart is pounding as you slam the car door shut, and you're nearly gasping for breath as you tightly grip the steering wheel. You had some work that you wanted to finish off before leaving, and figured one last stop by the break room before you left wouldn't hurt. You weren't quite expecting to find someone else there, but at the same time neither were you ruling out the possibility, since your last move had been so close to the end of the day. You were definitely not expecting that someone to be _Jumin Han oh God you're playing against Jumin Han WHY is it Jumin Han what does this mean??_ You take several deep breathes to try and calm yourself, and once you're under control you drive home, determined not to think anymore about it until you're settled for the night.

You curl up around a hot mug of tea on the couch, and your body finally catches up with the shock. You shiver slightly as you relive the moment of walking into the break room and seeing the unmistakable form of Jumin standing over the chess game with his back to the door. He was the only one there, so the logical conclusion is that he is your opponent. The question is _why_ is he playing against you? The break room you frequent is far enough removed from Jumin's circle of direct influence, that he really has no business being on your level unless he's running an inspection. And even then it's usually Jaehee that does the inspections, by herself. You can count on one hand the number of times you've seen Jumin walk through your department, and still have fingers left over.

  _Why is Jumin Han playing random-ass chess games?_

You shake your head and sigh. The only thing you're sure about at this point is the fact that Mr. Han has won every single game since this whole thing started, because otherwise, why was it still floating around the office? It had to serve some sort of purpose, otherwise, it wouldn't be A Thing. Not if Jumin was on the other end of it. The only whimsy that man indulged in always involved his cat if the rumours were to be believed, and there were definitely zero cats involved in this silly little experiment.

 _Not even the chess pieces are cat-shaped,_ you think before snorting in amusement. You're not sure if cat-shaped chess pieces are a thing, but it's a project that would totally be up Jumin's alley. _This one may even be marginally successful._ That thought has you gulping down the rest of your tea, and sending you to bed. Thinking up cat-related projects meant you were starting to channel Jumin, and that creeps you out.

~~

The next morning, you're once again gasping in shock in the break room as you see Jumin's move. You were clearly correct in assessing that he'd won the previous games because he was now beginning to play aggressively to try and stem the tide of his eventual defeat. You aren't sure what lies on the end of your victory, but you are now desperate to find out. At the very least, you know answers will be had if you win, and you are very keen on asking him what the hell this whole chess thing is about.

You ponder the board and realize that you can toy with him for a couple of moves, and let him think his strategy is working. In reality, he'll be playing right into your hand. If he catches onto the fact that you're neatly leading his aggressive plays into a position that will end in his defeat, then he deserves to win. You aren't sure what it proves to you about his character, in the long run, save that it will help you see him as a human, and not as some frightening dictator who rules from on high, bestowing his favour on no one save his cat.

Two moves into your little ploy, you're giddy with the rush of power you feel as you realize Jumin Han has fallen for your fake-out. (Either that or he's trying to play the player, but you don't want to think about that possibility.) Your third move is made during the afternoon break, and your fourth checkmates him. You don't lay his king down in the usual manner of calling the defeat of the enemy king. You want him to think he still has a chance, and you want to be there when you see the dawning comprehension as he reviews his options. This is why you finish all of your work as quickly as you can and then stay behind as if you haven't.

You figure he'll wait until the same time as last night, when you walked in on him, to go to the board, so you do the same. You're not disappointed when you carefully open the door and slide into the room. You watch him in silence, and you can tell from his posture that he's clearly trying very hard to find a way out of his predicament. When his shoulders slump in defeat, you tense up in silent, ecstatic joy. That joy turns to slight apprehension as he turns and sees you, however. You were so focused on beating him, that you failed to come up with a plan for facing him. He seems equally at a loss for words, and you both stare at each other.

Before the moment becomes weird and uncomfortable, you say the only thing that pops into your head at that very second: "Checkmate."

A slow, shy smile spreads across his face, and you can't help but smile back.


End file.
